


Why Everybody Loves to Hate Mr. Sark

by alittlebriton



Category: Alias (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-02
Updated: 2015-08-02
Packaged: 2018-04-12 15:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4485287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alittlebriton/pseuds/alittlebriton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set in early S5, when Weiss is still with APO and Sydney is pregnant and the whole Vaughn being shot thing still happened.  The only thing is that Sark has been working with APO since 'A Man of His Word'.  Sark.  Weiss.  A mission.  A hotel room.  What could possibly happen?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Why Everybody Loves to Hate Mr. Sark

“So you want to go, with my agent, to Germany. Alone. With my female, blonde agent. No. No way, Sark.”

Sydney glares at him and the cocky bastard can barely suppress his grin. Sark is sitting in a chair in APO’s briefing room, _hands steepled like some Bond villain_ , Weiss thinks, disgusted and admiring at the same time.

She’s still shaking her head at him.

“Ok, I just… I really… I can’t be in the same room with you at the moment.” Sydney rushes out, and Sark leans back in his chair.

“I’ll just wait here, then, until she approves my mission.”

“You might be waiting a while”, Weiss remarks, looking with barely disguised envy at Sark’s shoes.

“I disagree.”

“And why’s that, Mr. Smarty-pants?” Weiss is pissed off at Sark’s presumption – no one, especially Mr Smooth here, knows Sydney better than he does. He’s her best friend.

“Because she will volunteer to come with me instead. She’ll never approve it with anyone else. That way she can keep an eye on me.” Sark voice is so self-confident Weiss understands Sydney’s constant urge to deck the man.

“Ok, you know you’re crazy right? You think we’ll let Sydney, who’s four months pregnant, by the way, in case you hadn’t noticed, go on a mission with you?” Weiss swings round to stare at him in disbelief, and Sark looks back at him. Weiss takes an involuntary step back at the restrained anger in the assassin’s eyes.

“I’ve done a lot of terrible things in my life, Agent Weiss, but I have never hurt a pregnant woman. Some things are beneath us all.”

“Well, it’s good to know you have standards. You’re a champ.” Witheringly, Weiss turns away from him, and stands in silence.

“She won’t do it, you know.”

“Give her…” Sark looks at his watch, “…twenty more seconds”.

Weiss is silently counting, moving his lips along with his inner monologue and ignores the fact that Sark is sniggering. As he reaches fifteen, Sydney bursts back into the room.

“I’m going with you. Not her. There is no way I’m letting you out of my sight. And if you try anything funny…”

“I know, Agent Bristow. I burn you, and you will burn me.” Sark stands up and offers her a wide smile.

“I will have so much pleasure in killing you”, she spits at him. He regards her for a few seconds, examining her pinched face.

“No you won’t. You wouldn’t take any pleasure in it at all. In fact, I’m certain you would never kill me. It wouldn’t do to stain your child with my spilt blood, would it, dear Sydney?”

Her face is turning an interesting shade of puce, and Weiss isn’t sure whether she’s gonna hit him or cry. Sark grins again, looks at the floor and then snaps his head back to stare directly into her eyes.

“Your father, however, could make a grown man weep in under six hours. I suggest you use him as a more effective threat. I’ll prepare our intel for the flight.” He looks at Weiss and nods, then exits with his usual swagger.

Sydney joins Weiss at the door, looking after the blonde making his way through the room, heads turning in his direction from both genders. Sydney’s breathing has evened, and Weiss is pretty sure she won’t do anything stupid.

“You know what I really dislike about that man?” Weiss doesn’t even have to think for more than half a second

“The fact that he’s usually right?”

“The fact that he’s usually right”, Sydney repeats slowly, nodding her head.

Weiss wasn’t sure when he started to get used to having Sark around. _I mean, the man hardly speaks. It’s barely like he’s here anyway._ But he had started to look around for him in the briefing rooms, paying attention to the missions he was being sent on, and when Weiss was Sark’s back-up, he made damn sure nothing went wrong. _Nothing like a pissed off assassin after a botched mission._ Weiss had learned that one the hard way.

He definitely won’t confuse his right and left again when giving directions out of an ex-KGB military base when there are sixteen armed guards in the wrong corridor. Sark had hit him, but it hadn’t hurt that much, as his right arm had two bullets through the muscles. It had taken Sark four months to get over it: Weiss thought at least half of that was pride. The assassin liked shooting people but didn’t take too kindly to getting shot himself.

Weiss knows he’s in too deep when they are sent to meet with a hacker who might have created a worm that could eat away at the Taiwanese defence system. Weiss drives, he doesn’t even let Sark get a whiff of the driving seat. He doesn’t want him to put on his leather driving gloves, they give Weiss the creeps. Or at least, something about them makes him sweat.

They come up over the hill and the sun hits Weiss’ eyes. Without thinking, he flips down his sun visor and does the same for his passenger. There is an uneasy silence. He looks over at Sark, who is staring at him in anticipation, as if waiting for Weiss to get the joke.

“What?”

“Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”

“Freak”, Weiss mutters under his breath. His hands itch, as if trying to get his attention, and then what has just occurred flashes through his brain and he swerves.

“Are you feeling all right?” Sark inquires mildly.

“Just fine, thank you.” Weiss’ tone is curt, mainly because of the freak-out that is happening in his brain. _What the hell was that? Why did I just put down the visor, like I do when I’m impressing women? The guy’s wearing sunglasses. The guy’s a trained assassin. The guy’s a guy. Jesus Christ_.

Weiss manages, somehow, to get through the next few hours without killing either of them, refusing to be drawn into conversation no matter how many times Sark remarks on the hardships of a single mother. They reach Taipei at dusk, and the sunset is quite spectacular. Due to the CIA’s budget, the hotel is, however, less than spectacular, and it gets a disbelieving stare from the ‘I’m too posh to rough it’ assassin.

“People actually stay here? I mean, it isn’t some over-grown hotel for cockroaches?”

“You’re with the good guys now. What we lack in style we make up in not being evil. Deal.” Sark gives him a derisory snort and deigns to carry his own bags into the reception.

Oh goody, Weiss thinks, adjoining rooms. That will be fun when Sark brings back three local beauties to while the night away with. He remembers having to spend nights next to Syd and Mike’s room, trying to muffle their noises with his pillow and finally giving up and jerking off slowly to her moans. You gotta love Syd, she’s a moaner. But of course, the memory just makes him feel terribly guilty, or it would, if Sark wasn’t looking at him like he was prey.

“What? Do I have something on my face?”

“You were making strained keening noises. They attracted my attention. Care to explain?”

“To you, never.” The elevator dings and the doors slide open. “Oh, look, we’re here.” Hide in the obvious.

Sark dutifully follows him, and they split into separate rooms. But of course, Weiss doesn’t get away that easily, and in a few seconds a door by his bed is flung open and an eager killer bounds through the door.

“It isn’t a total shithole! We have actual soap in the bathrooms!” Weiss casts Sark’s sarcasm a withering look, and bends over to snap his bag open.

“We only have half an hour before have to be at this club. Go get changed. and remember your comm, unlike last time.”

“Of course, Eric. After all, you are in charge.” And Sark practically skips out the room while Weiss throws a look at his retreating back.

“You bet your sweet ass,” Weiss mutters darkly.

They get to the club, which is loud and dark and club-like, and Weiss is immediately bored. Although with Sark looking like a delinquent angel at his side, it isn’t hard to ignore the surroundings. At TeXound, techno-punks appear to be having a fabulous time grinding to some god-awful music on the dance floor, and Weiss realises that the apparel guys must have really done their homework.

Weiss is dressed in a transparent white shirt with artful rips along one side, and is sweating in leather trousers. Sark is in a tighter-than-saran-wrap t-shirt, and is also in leather, although Weiss suspects these are not part of his costume. He had heard earlier mutterings of ‘PVC’ and ‘never again’ through the wall, and was sorely tempted to ask for a back-story. The only thing stopping him was the innocent look on Sark’s face tempered with the eyeliner and gelled hair. Seriously, blondes should not be allowed black eyeliner. Especially if they have blue eyes. It makes them look all dirty and wide-eyed. Weiss suppresses a shiver and walks purposely towards the bar.

“All we know about this guy is that he’s a geek, he’s about to get rich if he meets this other guy, and that he’ll be killed once he gets that system down.” Sark nudges him and points.

“It’s that guy.”

“Seriously? How the hell do you know that?”

“He’s the only person not wearing ripped clothing and that hasn’t dyed his hair neon. Plus, he’s pale, nervous and keep rubbing his palms against his trousers. He basically screams ‘hacker’.”

“Ok. Um, well done. You used your super spy powers of seeing. Now can you spot the buyer? Then we can leave this freak-show and go home.”

Sark glowers at Weiss’ remarks, but starts to scan the crowd for anyone with enough money to afford this kind of service. He rests his elbows behind him on the bar and stretches his lean frame out, a sleek blond panther. Weiss keeps one eye on the hacker and one on Sark, watching his eyes dart back and forth from under long eyelashes, looking like a man trying to spot the best girls. Or guys, Weiss supposes. He sneaks another look. _Seriously, how does he make everything he wears look good? And un-crumpled? It is like a special British skill. Maybe the pouting lips is also a British trait._ Weiss is pretty sure he is openly staring now, but before he can pull himself together to look away from Sark’s chest, Sark sighs in frustration.

“Either ask me something or stop watching me while I work. Honestly, you have no subtlety, field agent rated or not.”

Weiss blushes, and says the first thing he can think of: “Those are your own pants, aren’t they?”

Sark looks at him in surprise, then smirks.

“That’s what has been occupying your mind these past few minutes?” Weiss can only nod in reply, knowing that this condemns him to stalker-hood, but he got himself into this.

 

“Jenny, while being a wonderful woman whom I wish no harm upon in any way, also likes to dress me in god-awful clothes when on missions. The last time I had something like this”, he gestures at the club, “she put me in PVC trousers and that lovely Rachel couldn’t stop laughing.”

He pulls on his bottom lip thoughtfully.

“Although, I can‘t say I blame her. I mean, they were shiny. And silver. I felt like Bowie in the bad fashion years.” He looks at Weiss, who practically has his mouth open.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s the longest thing I ever heard you say without sarcasm. I’m amazed you didn’t drop dead of withdrawal.”

“Funny.” There is a pause as both men look out across the sea of grinding bodies. Then -

“Who is Jenny?” Sark shoots Weiss an appalled look.

“How long have you been with APO? Jenny is the wonderful woman in apparel. She apparently thinks I’m some sort of disco fairy in my spare time. She obviously think Rachel is a librarian and Sydney is a hooker, although I imagine the pregnancy has put paid to _that_ for a while.” He throws an amused glance at Weiss’s clothes and ignores the giggling that started after Sark said ‘disco fairy’.

“She obviously sees you as a low-end rent boy.”

“Hey!”

“Alright, high-end. Anyway, it looks like we have a buyer.” And Sark nods at the men who have joined the hacker and are gesturing to the shadows in the nearest corner, and Weiss tries to ignore the flush that went through his body at Sark‘s words.

They both move in, hovering on the edges, and then they execute their mission to the letter. Once the deal has been made, and a small memory stick changes hands, Weiss moves in to arrest the hacker, calling the rest of the team in to take him away.

Sark follows the men, sticking out like sore thumbs in suits, out the back of the club. Weiss switches on his comm.

“Bad apple, come in. Do you have the worm?” Weiss has been waiting all day to say that line, and he doesn’t even bother to hide his juvenile glee. There is no reply, and Weiss curses as he practically throws the hacker to some guy, _Sam, that’s it_ , who looks at him quizzically. Weiss hurries out to follow Sark, and finds him standing over two men who are both bleeding reasonably heavily from their faces.

“You know, you’re only meant to detain them so that we can get some questions answered. Then they go into our custody.”

“I am getting my questions answered. My way.” Weiss sighs, leans in to grab the memory stick from one of the men’s suit pocket, and taps his comm again.

“Tac team, we’re in the alley behind the club. We’ll need more cuffs.” _And then we need to get Sark out fo those clothes for they will be all sweaty and blood-stained, and where the hell did that comment come from? Jeez, man, you need some sleep and perhaps some therapy_. Weiss shakes his head to clear these thoughts, and ignores Sark’s inquisitive eyebrow raise.

“Let’s go”, he says shortly before pocketing the device and heading back towards the tactical van.

Getting the men seems easy enough, and they move back to the hotel to download the info to Marshall. Weiss sits in his room in front of his laptop listening to the man giggle maniacally down the phone at how simple and yet sophisticated this worm is, and he rakes a hand through his hair then down his face. He really is tired. These pants aren’t exactly helping his mood either, but he has to finish the job before he can change.

 

Sark appears in his room holding what looks like a glass of whisky and a bottle of beer, and places the beer down in front of him, and Weiss mouths a surprised ‘thank you’.

“Ok, Marshall, I’m glad you like the illegal software. Will you be able to do something with it? I don’t know, whatever it is that Jack and Sloane need. Excellent. See you tomorrow.” He throws down the phone with undisguised impatience, then grabs the beer and takes a good long swallow.

He looks up to find Sark watching his throat intently, and for a second Weiss worries about bladed weapons, before Sark brings his eyes up to meet his own and Weiss is vaguely reassured by the non-homicidal look there. Of course, Sark has never looked homicidal because he’s a sociopath, but Weiss will take comfort wherever he can get it.

He notices that Sark has settled himself on the bed, leaning forward intently, which only enhances the biceps so clearly defined in his t-shirt. He hasn’t even bother to remove the eyeliner, although his hair is back to it’s usual sexy rumpled style. _Wait, did I just think Sark’s hair is sexy? He has to leave now before I start having more thoughts about why Sark was watching me swallow and why I believe I’m blushing over my whole body now and Jesus Eric will you just break this embarrassing silence already?_

“And we appear to be hanging out and drinking like buddies why?” _Ah, yes, my old friend, the sarcastic insult._

“Because you always seem to be on edge recently, and quite frankly, I’m tired of waiting for you to get comfortable in your role at APO. Drink your beer and relax. It is generally what one does after a success.”

“ _You_ drink beer after a success?”

“No, I drink things that aren’t an insult to the taste buds, but you are an American and so will be forgiven for being ignorant.”

“Whatever, dude. I’m so tired of the whole ‘I’m better than you’ bullshit.” Sark’s eyes gleam and he gets off the bed and makes for the chair where Weiss is sitting.

“Dude? I _am_ better than you. You’ve spent your whole life in your best friend’s shadow, had a mild obsession with your best friend’s on/off girlfriend and your most recent dalliance is in a coma. I, on the other hand, have mostly always gotten what I want.”

“Except when we’ve stopped you. And hey. And, also, leave now.” Weiss gets out of his seat and makes to push past the blonde, who is slowly advancing on him.

“You see, Eric, I think that you really need to let go and find yourself a little distraction in life.” Sark stands in his way between him and his bed, and Weiss glowers at him.

“Oh, yeah? And what would that be?”

“Me”, replies Sark, and he grabs Weiss by both arms and kisses him.

“Mmmph”, is all Weiss can say in return, before Sark’s tongue slips past his lips and into his mouth, caressing his own tongue. _What the fuck? Sark is kissing you, man, kissing you, don’t just stand there, do something! Push him away!_

But apparently Weiss’ body has other plans as he feels his cock mutiny and harden, and his arms rise to not shake him off, oh, no, _stupid betraying arms_ , but instead move to clasp Sark in return. And then Weiss is kissing him back with fire and passion and something like relief, that yes, this is what he wants, something to make life a little more fun.

Sark wraps himself around Weiss’ body, rubbing against him in new and exciting places, and Weiss has never felt another man’s cock next to his, even through fabric. And now this leather feels fantastic and he wants to marry these pants, or at least keep them in a shrine to thank them every day for making him feel like this and for allowing him to have a debauched angel in his arms for even a second.

Weiss meets Sark’s tongue with his own and feels more than hears his groan, and he finds himself walking Sark backwards to the bed, which breaks their fall slightly less comfortably than either would like.

Then his brain does kick in and he breaks the kiss to look up from where he is kneeling over Sark’s body.

“This is not really happening. This really can’t happen.”

“Oh yes it can”, comes the inevitable reply, and the assassin flips Weiss over in one fluid moment and now Weiss is staring at the ceiling before he knows what is really happening and then Sark is unbuttoning his shirt.

“No, it, guh -” is all Weiss manages to get out before Sark’s mouth descends onto his neck and he starts licking and biting his way down to his collarbone, Nimble fingers make quick work of his shirt, and Sark’s slippery tongue works its way over to his nipples, which harden under warm saliva and the cold air conditioning. Sark is still rubbing against him, and his cock is telling him that, _yes, Eric, you are very interested in letting this happen_ , and Weiss gives in and just goes with it.

He lets his hands run down Sark’s chest, feeling every muscle beneath the thin fabric, and then pulls the t-shirt off over his head. Now he can see what he has been imagining all night: an expanse of pale skin, slightly freckled on the shoulders, taut and wiry. When he trails his fingers over Sark’s ribs, the man shivers and kisses him again, slow and sweet.

Weiss can feel air where there wasn’t any before and realises that Sark has unbuttoned his trousers and is stroking his cock through the cotton of his boxers and Weiss gasps because suddenly he can’t breathe.

“Oh, Christ”, he moans.

“Actually it’s Julian, but I’m good with whatever you want to call me.” At the sound of Sark’s breathless voice, low and purring, Weiss reaches down to free him from his own trousers. Sark settles to the side of him, and Weiss takes the opportunity to bite the man’s shoulders, earning a hiss and a renewed attack on his cock.

Sark finally touches him, skin on skin, and the heat of his palm causes Weiss to thrust up, bucking his hips. Sark laughs at the back of his throat, which turns into a gurgle when Weiss does the same to him, raising his eyebrows when he finds that the assassin is not wearing any underwear under his pants. Weiss moves onto his side slightly, and he can see Sark’s eyes, now a dark blue, full of lust, and he can feel Sark’s hand and the leather of his trousers, and the combination makes him want to climax right now.

They move together, Sark’s hand smoother than his own, twisting a little at the end of each stroke, and it feels so good and so right, part of Weiss wants to know why this never happened earlier. And then Sark’s hand is gone and Weiss whimpers at the loss, only to see Sark slowly lick his hand from wrist to finger tips and then wrap it back around his cock.

The warmth and the slickness nearly pulls Weiss over the edge, and he closes his eyes at the brilliance of it all. Sark is essentially thrusting into his hip, making small moaning noises, and that makes Weiss want to kiss him again. So he does, tongues tangling with each other, and Sark tastes of whisky and something sweeter and darker, and Weiss moans into his mouth. Sark’s hand speeds up, sweeping the pre-cum off the tip of his cock and smoothing it down the shaft, so hot and slick and Weiss pushes up again, bucking wildly into his hand.

Sark’s free hand moves up to grab at the back of Weiss’ head, fusing their mouths together, jerking his cock in a steady rhythm in time with his own thrusts into the soft leather of Weiss’ pants, and for a moment Eric thinks that the op went wrong and he died and went to heaven, which would explain to tiny whimpering noises he can hear.

Sark breaks the kiss to whisper, “Next time, I want to take you in my mouth and have you make those noises”, and that’s all Weiss needs to send him over edge, coming with a yell and spurting into Sark’s hand and over his own belly. Sark follows a moment later, looking into Weiss’ cloudy eyes, coming into the soft suppleness of the leather, biting his lip then letting out a breathy groan that Weiss can feel in his body all the way to his toes. He kisses Weiss again, making sure that there is no space inside his mouth that he hasn’t explored, then slowly brings his hand up to his mouth, and without breaking eye contact, licks Weiss come off his long fingers, making Weiss shiver and wish that he had the recovery time he used to have.

They lie there in companionable sweaty silence for a while as their breaths deepen, and Weiss can feel his own come drying on his skin. He breaks their semi-embrace to rollover to clean up with some tissues, and then shucks off his pants and boxers and moves to get under the covers, only to find an already naked assassin in the bed.

“You see? I knew a distraction would be welcome.”

“If you ever try to turn this to your advantage and gain some sort of leverage out of it, I will kill you.”

“Of course, Eric. But even if I did, you would still want a next time. Sleep now and more tomorrow.”   
  
And with that the blonde turns off the light and throws his arm over Weiss, puling him close so that their bodies touch and their heat mingles. Weiss feels a light brush of lips over his forehead, and he lies there, staring at the man in the darkness, seething inwardly. The thing he really dislikes about Sark is the fact he’s usually right.


End file.
